Writerverse: Table of Doom - A Gun to the Head
More stuff that might happen in I Prefer the Mind Control. I'm jumping around quite a bit in this draft of the story, haha. Enjoy!
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I’m walking down the street late at night when I hear something I never thought I would hear again -- fucking bullets, flying at me. The whizzing sound is the exact same as when someone tried to kill Xan. Only Xan isn’t here.
What the fuck? I run like hell, though I can’t even tell which way to go to get away. Adrenaline rips through my body, and it’s worse than before. Unlike Xan, I don’t have any bodyguards to protect me. And I’m all alone. My heart pounds in my chest -- this can’t be fucking happening. Maybe they’re not shooting at me?
A bullet whizzes right by my head. They are fucking shooting at me. No way, no way, no way. Panic wants to eat my brain. I keep running, as fast as my skinny legs can take me. My muscles scream. I go and go and go, buoyed by adrenaline, fear and fucking confusion. A shower of bullets surrounds me.
How I haven’t been hit, I don’t fucking know. Maybe the shooters follow the movie rule of “villains can’t fucking shoot straight?” But why are they shooting at me? Besides being a space Prince’s favorite booty call, I am really not worthy of such enthusiastic attempted murder. And that’s not enough reason to try and kill me. As I run, the sheer amount of “what the fuck” is almost too much.
Soon, I have to stop. I turn a corner into a narrow street and collapse against the wall. Bad fucking idea. One of the bullets hits me. I’m not even sure where I’ve been hit. Only that I’m screaming in pain and lying on the ground all of a sudden. Another fucking bullet hits me. And another.
Pain fucking tears me apart. I scream like hell. Maybe someone will hear me? I can’t even move my limbs, but I know I’m soaking in my own blood. It’s awful and wet and sticky, and this can’t be happening. I’m going to die. On some random street, for a reason I can’t even understand. My vision goes dark and fuzzy around the edges.
The last thing I think is fuck.
* * *
My brain is blurry. I hear voices -- ones as fuzzy as my brain. They’re weird and echoey, and I don’t like them. Where am I? I can’t even fucking tell. Things hurt, but I kinda don’t care. I blink my eyes, trying to clear some of the fuzz away. It doesn’t work, but the voices increase in pitch, like they’re excited about something. What’s so exciting about being fuzzy?
This dream fucking creeps me out. I wanna wake up and have things be normal. Instead, my vision goes dark again.
The second time I wake up in this weird dream world, my vision’s more, what’s the word? Sharper. That’s about right. I can make out faces, but I can’t tell who they belong to. Not that I actually fucking care right now. My mouth is all dry, and I want water.
“W...ater,” I croak. I sound ridiculous.
Wait, can you even get thirsty in a dream? What if I’m not fucking dreaming? Shit, were those bullets real?
I hear someone say something that kinda sounds like “he’s awake,” but they could be saying anything. Right now, I just want some fucking water. And to wake up.
“Dream...sucks,” I say, though I can barely get the words out.
My stomach sinks. This isn’t a fucking dream, is it? No? That’s just great. Was it really necessary for the plot to have me shot? It was? Oh, fuck you.
I blink a bunch of times, and, finally, the room kinda comes into focus, sort of. It’s so fucking white. Xan’s there. So are Bonnie and my roommate, Preston. They’re all still blurry, but I recognize Bonnie’s bouncy curly brown hair and huge matching brown eyes, as well as Preston’s sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes. And who could possibly forget Xan’s shiny metallic alien eyes? Speaking of fucking eyes, I hope mine start to focus for real, and soon. This blurring shit sucks.
A bunch of assorted medical people stand around, too. “Do you know where you are?” one of them asks.
“Fucking...hospital,” I mutter. I try to sit up, but my head swims, so I can’t.
When I realize I cursed in front of some fancy doctor lady, I wince. Go figure, but, hey, if I just got fucking shot, I get some leeway with social rules, right?
The doctor nods. “Do you remember what happened?” she says.
“Got shot,” I say. Do I have to keep speaking? This is fucking uncomfortable.
She nods again and asks me if I remember my name.
“Not like...I was...shot...in the...head,” I say. Oh right, she wants my name. “Dylan...Hathaway.” She’d want my last name too, wouldn’t she?
The doctor asks a bunch more questions and people check my vital signs. I’m even given some water to drink. Eventually, all the medical staff leave me alone with my friends. It’s too bad I pass out yet again.
When I come to, Xan, Preston and Bonnie are still there. They all stay quiet, and they’ve got these creepy concerned looks on their faces, like they thought I might not make it or something. I shudder -- I don’t wanna think about that.
Finally, Bonnie smiles, kind of. “I’m so glad you’re alive. If you’d died, I would have dragged your ass back from the afterlife myself,” she says. “I don’t care if there’s no such thing, I would have done it anyway.”
I try to smile back. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have a sexy girlfriend who’ll bend the law of reality for them, a roommate who cares enough to visit and an also-sexy alien friend with benefits who, for some reason, cares enough to visit, too.
I’m sure my smile looks all wrong. Xan’s making a funny face, too, and I’m still not entirely sure I’m not dreaming. Something feels so off. Yeah, being fucking shot on its own is “off” enough, but...I get the feeling that’s not all that’s wrong. Maybe being shot in the torso did fuck with my brain.
“Thanks,” I say, though it really does hurt to talk.
“You don’t know how happy I am you’re alive. You really, really don’t know. I mean...wow, getting shot? Super scary stuff,” Preston says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re seriously the best roommate ever. Who else would drive thirty miles to get me my favorite coffee beans just so I could eat them?” He’s practically bouncing on his feet thinking about those coffee beans.
Xan stares at the ground, and he’s kind of...fidgety? “Dylan, are you...feeling up to talking now?” he murmurs.
Wait, what? My head starts pulsing -- no, I’m not fucking “up to talking” at this particular moment, but...something in his voice says it’s important.
“Don’t -- don’t tell me...you’re gonna -- gonna break...things off because I -- I...got shot. That would be the...stupidest bed buddy breakup reason...ever, considering how people -- how people were trying to...to shoot at you first. I didn’t break up with you over it,” I mutter. That fucking hurt to say, but at least I got all my words out?
Bonnie nods. “He’s right. Yeah, that would be so hypocritical.”
Xan shakes his head. “Oh, no, I’m not about to break things off, not at all. But -- this is kind of...private,” he says, looking at Preston and Bonnie. “Do you mind waiting outside for a moment? If Dylan wishes, he can explain things afterward.” Is he fucking blushing?
Both of them raise their eyebrows. “Okay,” Preston mutters, leaving the room.
“Don’t do anything weird.” Bonnie gives Xan a hard look, but she follows my roommate outside.
Once we’re alone, Xan takes a seat in the armchair beside my bed, and things about explode with awkward. He grabs the wooden armrest too tightly, and he won’t fucking look at me. Oh, and he’s definitely blushing, which just confuses me because what’s blush-worthy about being in the hospital?
“I’m sorry,” he mutters.
Excuse me? “Sorry for what?” I ask.
“For -- for getting you into this mess,” he sighs, still with that weird blush on his face.
“You...didn’t make anyone...fucking...shoot me,” I say. I take another sip of water from the little plastic cup.
His shoulders sag. “I did, actually. Indirectly, of course, but it is still my fault.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Would you, um...explain?” Because that makes no fucking sense. What, does he think attempted murder is a sexually transmitted disease?
“The shooters, we believe them to be enemies of mine who wanted to kill you in order to, well...in order to hurt me,” he says, his eyes still downcast. Why won’t he look at me?
Worry makes me kinda nauseated, or that might be because I haven’t eaten in who knows how long. “Um, what?” I say. “Wouldn’t it, uh, make more sense to kill you if someone had a problem with you?”
“I’m too well-protected, I think. I suspect they wanted to cause more emotional pain, rather than physical harm. They wanted to devastate me. Since we are so close, they thought hurting you the best way to do that,” he says.
“I still don’t get it,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I mean, we’re just friends with benefits. Would hurting me really do all that much?”
Xan doesn’t say anything for what feels like hours. The silence slams into my ears, pounding at them and making me wish I could just black out again. Whatever he’s not saying, it can’t be good.
“It would,” he says. His voice cracks. “You’re...not -- you’re not just a ‘bed buddy’ to me. I...feel more for you. I -- I...love you.”
Wait, what? I blink a bunch of times. No way did I hear him right. No way. Another fucking silence stretches between us, and I’m gonna choke on it. Something in it says that I did hear Xan right. But...no fucking way.
“Say that again?” I mutter, not wanting to believe it.
“I love you,” he says. He puts his hands on his knees and keeps looking downward.
I stare at the ceiling when I can’t look at him anymore. My chest hurts, from both the fucking bullet wound and Xan’s fucking feelings. I can’t think of anything to say because...what? Just fucking...what?
“I -- I don’t expect you to feel the same way, but...” He trails off. Xan’s got something else to add, doesn’t he?
Now, I really wanna fucking black out. Whatever it is, it won’t be good.
“You’re in danger because of me --”
“-- I get that,” I mutter. Right now, I have almost no patience, and I’m just waiting for things to fucking explode. “Tell me what’s going on, or I’ll...stab you with my pillow.”
Xan chuckles softly. “You can’t stab anybody with a pillow, Dylan,” he says.
“I’ll find a way,” I say. I almost start giggling. Almost.
“You’re in danger because of me, and this is serious. The people who tried to shoot you, they -- they won’t stop until you’re dead. I can’t protect you, not here,” he sighs. No way are there fucking tears in his eyes.
“Can’t we...go to the police or something? Or could you just, like...lend me a couple bodyguards? Don’t you have a few extras?” My everything hurts.
Xan shakes his head. “The police won’t be able to help, and I can’t just lend out my bodyguards, though I wish I could. The people who are after you, my enemies...they’re not going to be stopped so easily. The National States government doesn’t...like my people enough to protect you, either” he says.
“So, what, I’m just going to be fucking killed because some mysterious people want to fuck you up?” I mutter, my voice fucking strained. This. Is. Not. Happening.
“You...won’t be killed, but...” He trails off again.
I narrow my eyes at him and give him the best glare I can in my “I wanna black out” state. “But what?” I mutter.
He twists his hands in his lap. “I can keep you safe...if you come with me to Zimara.”
What?
The air in the room freezes, and I shiver, hugging my arms to my chest.
“Lemme see if I understand this. We were friends with benefits, only you somehow fell in love with me, and because of how you feel, I need to leave the fucking planet in order to not fucking die?” My eyes might fall out of my head because what. The. Fuck?
Xan nods. “Yes,” he says.
My mind races, the room spins, and I’m going to black out for real, only I don’t. I stay awake. I stay fucking away in a reality that makes no fucking sense.
What the fuck am I gonna do?
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I’m walking down the street late at night when I hear something I never thought I would hear again -- fucking bullets, flying at me. The whizzing sound is the exact same as when someone tried to kill Xan. Only Xan isn’t here.
What the fuck? I run like hell, though I can’t even tell which way to go to get away. Adrenaline rips through my body, and it’s worse than before. Unlike Xan, I don’t have any bodyguards to protect me. And I’m all alone. My heart pounds in my chest -- this can’t be fucking happening. Maybe they’re not shooting at me?
A bullet whizzes right by my head. They are fucking shooting at me. No way, no way, no way. Panic wants to eat my brain. I keep running, as fast as my skinny legs can take me. My muscles scream. I go and go and go, buoyed by adrenaline, fear and fucking confusion. A shower of bullets surrounds me.
How I haven’t been hit, I don’t fucking know. Maybe the shooters follow the movie rule of “villains can’t fucking shoot straight?” But why are they shooting at me? Besides being a space Prince’s favorite booty call, I am really not worthy of such enthusiastic attempted murder. And that’s not enough reason to try and kill me. As I run, the sheer amount of “what the fuck” is almost too much.
Soon, I have to stop. I turn a corner into a narrow street and collapse against the wall. Bad fucking idea. One of the bullets hits me. I’m not even sure where I’ve been hit. Only that I’m screaming in pain and lying on the ground all of a sudden. Another fucking bullet hits me. And another.
Pain fucking tears me apart. I scream like hell. Maybe someone will hear me? I can’t even move my limbs, but I know I’m soaking in my own blood. It’s awful and wet and sticky, and this can’t be happening. I’m going to die. On some random street, for a reason I can’t even understand. My vision goes dark and fuzzy around the edges.
The last thing I think is fuck.
* * *
My brain is blurry. I hear voices -- ones as fuzzy as my brain. They’re weird and echoey, and I don’t like them. Where am I? I can’t even fucking tell. Things hurt, but I kinda don’t care. I blink my eyes, trying to clear some of the fuzz away. It doesn’t work, but the voices increase in pitch, like they’re excited about something. What’s so exciting about being fuzzy?
This dream fucking creeps me out. I wanna wake up and have things be normal. Instead, my vision goes dark again.
The second time I wake up in this weird dream world, my vision’s more, what’s the word? Sharper. That’s about right. I can make out faces, but I can’t tell who they belong to. Not that I actually fucking care right now. My mouth is all dry, and I want water.
“W...ater,” I croak. I sound ridiculous.
Wait, can you even get thirsty in a dream? What if I’m not fucking dreaming? Shit, were those bullets real?
I hear someone say something that kinda sounds like “he’s awake,” but they could be saying anything. Right now, I just want some fucking water. And to wake up.
“Dream...sucks,” I say, though I can barely get the words out.
My stomach sinks. This isn’t a fucking dream, is it? No? That’s just great. Was it really necessary for the plot to have me shot? It was? Oh, fuck you.
I blink a bunch of times, and, finally, the room kinda comes into focus, sort of. It’s so fucking white. Xan’s there. So are Bonnie and my roommate, Preston. They’re all still blurry, but I recognize Bonnie’s bouncy curly brown hair and huge matching brown eyes, as well as Preston’s sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes. And who could possibly forget Xan’s shiny metallic alien eyes? Speaking of fucking eyes, I hope mine start to focus for real, and soon. This blurring shit sucks.
A bunch of assorted medical people stand around, too. “Do you know where you are?” one of them asks.
“Fucking...hospital,” I mutter. I try to sit up, but my head swims, so I can’t.
When I realize I cursed in front of some fancy doctor lady, I wince. Go figure, but, hey, if I just got fucking shot, I get some leeway with social rules, right?
The doctor nods. “Do you remember what happened?” she says.
“Got shot,” I say. Do I have to keep speaking? This is fucking uncomfortable.
She nods again and asks me if I remember my name.
“Not like...I was...shot...in the...head,” I say. Oh right, she wants my name. “Dylan...Hathaway.” She’d want my last name too, wouldn’t she?
The doctor asks a bunch more questions and people check my vital signs. I’m even given some water to drink. Eventually, all the medical staff leave me alone with my friends. It’s too bad I pass out yet again.
When I come to, Xan, Preston and Bonnie are still there. They all stay quiet, and they’ve got these creepy concerned looks on their faces, like they thought I might not make it or something. I shudder -- I don’t wanna think about that.
Finally, Bonnie smiles, kind of. “I’m so glad you’re alive. If you’d died, I would have dragged your ass back from the afterlife myself,” she says. “I don’t care if there’s no such thing, I would have done it anyway.”
I try to smile back. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have a sexy girlfriend who’ll bend the law of reality for them, a roommate who cares enough to visit and an also-sexy alien friend with benefits who, for some reason, cares enough to visit, too.
I’m sure my smile looks all wrong. Xan’s making a funny face, too, and I’m still not entirely sure I’m not dreaming. Something feels so off. Yeah, being fucking shot on its own is “off” enough, but...I get the feeling that’s not all that’s wrong. Maybe being shot in the torso did fuck with my brain.
“Thanks,” I say, though it really does hurt to talk.
“You don’t know how happy I am you’re alive. You really, really don’t know. I mean...wow, getting shot? Super scary stuff,” Preston says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re seriously the best roommate ever. Who else would drive thirty miles to get me my favorite coffee beans just so I could eat them?” He’s practically bouncing on his feet thinking about those coffee beans.
Xan stares at the ground, and he’s kind of...fidgety? “Dylan, are you...feeling up to talking now?” he murmurs.
Wait, what? My head starts pulsing -- no, I’m not fucking “up to talking” at this particular moment, but...something in his voice says it’s important.
“Don’t -- don’t tell me...you’re gonna -- gonna break...things off because I -- I...got shot. That would be the...stupidest bed buddy breakup reason...ever, considering how people -- how people were trying to...to shoot at you first. I didn’t break up with you over it,” I mutter. That fucking hurt to say, but at least I got all my words out?
Bonnie nods. “He’s right. Yeah, that would be so hypocritical.”
Xan shakes his head. “Oh, no, I’m not about to break things off, not at all. But -- this is kind of...private,” he says, looking at Preston and Bonnie. “Do you mind waiting outside for a moment? If Dylan wishes, he can explain things afterward.” Is he fucking blushing?
Both of them raise their eyebrows. “Okay,” Preston mutters, leaving the room.
“Don’t do anything weird.” Bonnie gives Xan a hard look, but she follows my roommate outside.
Once we’re alone, Xan takes a seat in the armchair beside my bed, and things about explode with awkward. He grabs the wooden armrest too tightly, and he won’t fucking look at me. Oh, and he’s definitely blushing, which just confuses me because what’s blush-worthy about being in the hospital?
“I’m sorry,” he mutters.
Excuse me? “Sorry for what?” I ask.
“For -- for getting you into this mess,” he sighs, still with that weird blush on his face.
“You...didn’t make anyone...fucking...shoot me,” I say. I take another sip of water from the little plastic cup.
His shoulders sag. “I did, actually. Indirectly, of course, but it is still my fault.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Would you, um...explain?” Because that makes no fucking sense. What, does he think attempted murder is a sexually transmitted disease?
“The shooters, we believe them to be enemies of mine who wanted to kill you in order to, well...in order to hurt me,” he says, his eyes still downcast. Why won’t he look at me?
Worry makes me kinda nauseated, or that might be because I haven’t eaten in who knows how long. “Um, what?” I say. “Wouldn’t it, uh, make more sense to kill you if someone had a problem with you?”
“I’m too well-protected, I think. I suspect they wanted to cause more emotional pain, rather than physical harm. They wanted to devastate me. Since we are so close, they thought hurting you the best way to do that,” he says.
“I still don’t get it,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I mean, we’re just friends with benefits. Would hurting me really do all that much?”
Xan doesn’t say anything for what feels like hours. The silence slams into my ears, pounding at them and making me wish I could just black out again. Whatever he’s not saying, it can’t be good.
“It would,” he says. His voice cracks. “You’re...not -- you’re not just a ‘bed buddy’ to me. I...feel more for you. I -- I...love you.”
Wait, what? I blink a bunch of times. No way did I hear him right. No way. Another fucking silence stretches between us, and I’m gonna choke on it. Something in it says that I did hear Xan right. But...no fucking way.
“Say that again?” I mutter, not wanting to believe it.
“I love you,” he says. He puts his hands on his knees and keeps looking downward.
I stare at the ceiling when I can’t look at him anymore. My chest hurts, from both the fucking bullet wound and Xan’s fucking feelings. I can’t think of anything to say because...what? Just fucking...what?
“I -- I don’t expect you to feel the same way, but...” He trails off. Xan’s got something else to add, doesn’t he?
Now, I really wanna fucking black out. Whatever it is, it won’t be good.
“You’re in danger because of me --”
“-- I get that,” I mutter. Right now, I have almost no patience, and I’m just waiting for things to fucking explode. “Tell me what’s going on, or I’ll...stab you with my pillow.”
Xan chuckles softly. “You can’t stab anybody with a pillow, Dylan,” he says.
“I’ll find a way,” I say. I almost start giggling. Almost.
“You’re in danger because of me, and this is serious. The people who tried to shoot you, they -- they won’t stop until you’re dead. I can’t protect you, not here,” he sighs. No way are there fucking tears in his eyes.
“Can’t we...go to the police or something? Or could you just, like...lend me a couple bodyguards? Don’t you have a few extras?” My everything hurts.
Xan shakes his head. “The police won’t be able to help, and I can’t just lend out my bodyguards, though I wish I could. The people who are after you, my enemies...they’re not going to be stopped so easily. The National States government doesn’t...like my people enough to protect you, either” he says.
“So, what, I’m just going to be fucking killed because some mysterious people want to fuck you up?” I mutter, my voice fucking strained. This. Is. Not. Happening.
“You...won’t be killed, but...” He trails off again.
I narrow my eyes at him and give him the best glare I can in my “I wanna black out” state. “But what?” I mutter.
He twists his hands in his lap. “I can keep you safe...if you come with me to Zimara.”
What?
The air in the room freezes, and I shiver, hugging my arms to my chest.
“Lemme see if I understand this. We were friends with benefits, only you somehow fell in love with me, and because of how you feel, I need to leave the fucking planet in order to not fucking die?” My eyes might fall out of my head because what. The. Fuck?
Xan nods. “Yes,” he says.
My mind races, the room spins, and I’m going to black out for real, only I don’t. I stay awake. I stay fucking away in a reality that makes no fucking sense.
What the fuck am I gonna do?